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I will be back as soon as I can." "Still I say"—Oliveri shook his head as Rennie pushed past Drew and Shiloh and went out—"that after seeing this one, all others will be as pale shadows of nothingness. But since I must have horses, Señor Shannon, I will look at horses. Buenos dias, señor." He raised a hand to Drew and the Kentuckian nodded.
Horse knowledge seems to run in your family. Now, shortly we are expecting a Coronel Luis Oliveri who’s to buy horses for the Juarez forces. He may need some assistance in driving them as far as the border. If he does, both of you’ll go." "Yes, suh." Drew’s agreement was drowned out by a harsh cry from overhead.
Oliveri walked about the stud as Drew went to fetch his saddle. "From Kentucky." Was he unduly suspicious or was there a challenge in the Mexican officer’s voice—a faint suggestion that the antecedents of both horse and owner were in question? "Kentucky ..." Oliveri stumbled in his repetition of the word. "I have heard of Kentucky horses." "Most people have." Drew tightened the cinch.
"Perhaps now, no. But time changes and chance changes, señor. So remember Luis Oliveri will give a fortune—and this is the truth, señor!" "Hunt!" Drew was forced to halt as Johnny Shannon stood straight ahead of him in the stable entrance. "Teodoro Trinfan’s come in with some news you oughta hear." "So? Well. I’m coming. Coronel, Johnny can show you the stock we have ready.
Hunt Rennie joined Oliveri. "You are right. He is indeed of the Blood," he assented. "It is past all hope then to offer for him?" Oliveri was smiling, but his eyes held a greedy glint Drew had seen before. Shiloh was apt to produce that reaction in any horseman. "He is not mine to sell, Coronel. He belongs to Señor Kirby who stands there with him." "So?" Oliveri’s open astonishment irritated Drew.
Oliveri gave what sounded to Drew like an exaggerated sigh. "Señor, you have spoiled my day. How can one look at lesser animals when one has seen such a treasure? Don Cazar, the Range harbors so many treasures—Oro, and now this one. How is he named, señor?" "Shiloh." "Shiloh ..." The Coronel made a sibilant hiss of the word. "An Indio name?" "No, a battle." Drew prepared to lead out. "In the war."
He was still puzzling over the situation when he returned an hour later. Nye, Anse, and a couple of the other riders had some of the recently broken mounts out, showing them off to Oliveri. There was shouting, noise, and confusion around the corrals and Drew slipped past without pausing. He had finished with Shiloh and was on his way to the bunkhouse when Hunt Rennie hailed him. "Drew!"
Maybe he did have on rough work clothes and look the part of a range drifter. But then when the Coronel had arrived here last night, he had not been too neat either. "A fine horse, señor." Oliveri came on in, now including Drew in his gaze. "I think so, Coronel," Drew returned shortly. He gave a last brush to flank and smoothed the saddle blanket. "From a distance you have brought him, señor?"
"Yeah, always supposin’ that," Nye agreed. "Magnífico!" Drew glanced over Shiloh’s back to the speaker. Coronel Oliveri paused in the doorway of the stable to study the stallion with almost exuberant admiration mirrored on his dark and mobile features. "Don Cazar"—the Mexican officer raised a gloved hand in a beckoning gesture—"por favor, Excellency ... this one, he is of the Blood?"
Can’t be easy for him to git them, neither." "Not here, no," Teodoro agreed. "But south, that is different. There is big trouble in Mexico—this French emperor fights Juarez, so there is much confusion. In wartime guns can be lost. A party of soldiers are cut off, as was Coronel Oliveri almost—men can be killed. But a gun—it is not buried with a man.
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